


ChatRubicon

by 7veilsphaedra



Category: Saiyuki, Saiyuki (Anime & Manga), Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: Kink Negotiation, M/M, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7veilsphaedra/pseuds/7veilsphaedra
Summary: PWP with Sanzo and Homura in the unlikely venue of a sex chatroom. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Genjo Sanzo/Homura, Genjo Sanzo/Homura Toushin Taishi
Kudos: 2





	ChatRubicon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Despina Moon as part of the 2014 Valentine Smut giftfic exchange on Dreamwidth. Posted here to update the archive. Prompts: web; askew; covert.
> 
> WARNING: Humiliation and semi-public exposure, but (strangely) no dubcon or noncon. Kink negotiation. Also, about as PWP as it gets.

Sanzo was one itchy finger from blasting the computer to Houtou. He had already hauled out the Smith and Wesson.

Big Sword: I can tell you aren’t used to this …

TriggerHappy: No shit Sherlock.

Big Sword: LOL no problem. It’s obvious you’re new, inexperienced …

Sanzo held back, unsure where this was leading.

Big Sword: … a complete virgin at chat … 

He cocked the safety. If he wanted shame, he could’ve spent the day with the Three Stooges during their forced rest and recovery farce.

Big Sword: Yet you jumped right into a competitive sex-chat game. That takes guts. Pretty impressive. 

Sanzo’s annoyance calmed down, somewhat. Enough, at least, to type:

TriggerHappy: Fine.

Big Sword: So you joined the Meat-Your-Man Colosseum to get off with other guys?

TriggerHappy: What of it?

Big Sword: That’s why everyone joins. Everyone finds it clumsy and frustrating at the start, but everybody has to start somewhere. I’ll help, if you like …

Sanzo sucked on his cigarette. Why did the leader of ChatRubicon’s most popular gay sex-chat gladiator mêlée want to teach him the ropes of chatroom sex? What was in it for him? New letters flashed onto the screen.

Big Sword: Even if you don’t rejoin the Arena, at least we could relieve some stress together…

Oh, yeah, Sanzo thought, that was the whole point. 

It hadn’t been the point originally. He’d joined ChatRubicon for its string of Survivalist Challenges to gain new tips about the usual: guns, foraging, fishing, hunting and setting up camp. A sober second thought was that he probably knew more about that than anyone else in the country, given his violent and preternatural entry into Head Holy Monk-titude, but other factors contributed, like this so-called holiday and the sense of restlessness and dissatisfaction which gnawed and nattered at his Zen. 

The first time Sanzo clicked on the Meat-Your-Man Colosseum, it was a total accident; he actually meant to click the Methods for Correctly Identifying Wild Mushrooms Challenge instead. 

The second time, it wasn’t an accident.

Big Sword: What’s the worst that can happen? We don’t see eye-to-eye and need some other way to get off. Big deal! 

Sanzo hadn’t had a decent round of ‘stress relief’ in weeks.

Big Sword: Still there?

TriggerHappy: Sure. Ok. 

It all started when Kami-sama’s Palace of Toys fell apart … 

Actually, it all started a week or so later because they were barely conscious when Hakaryuu hauled them off the mountain and into the hospital. The post-Kami-sama physiotherapy and wound-licking sessions happened in what most people would call a sumptuous spa. Sanzo, being antsy to get back on the road, called it a needless expense, a huge distraction and a waste of time, but Hakaryuu’s wing tendons had been injured during the rescue, and Hakkai started bringing other words into the discussion like hog-tying techniques, muzzles and locked closets. Sanzo decided a couple extra days of rest maybe were in order.

Jets of water bubbled in the hot pools and delicate water fountains tinkled into marble basins. Snatches of laughter and pleasant-sounding conversations rose and fell as Sanzo briskly stomped past alcoves and long, pillared walkways, as birds chittered in the tropical treetops of the covered botanical garden. Not even Sanzo could find much to sniff at, here, apart from that bossy little fucker of an orthopaedic surgeon who got to work on his just recently un-dislocated spine, knees, shoulders and hips. She packed one helluva slap, too, when he cussed her out after a particularly demanding rehab session — almost dislocated his jaw. 

As he rounded the corner to the soaking pools, a whoosh of cooling air rushed through breezeways and kissed his skin, carrying a waft of gardenia and jasmine off the intricate flower arrangements that lined the walk. It was … nice.

He was finally easing off on the muttering and molar-grinding when a familiar voice set his teeth back on edge. Sure enough, as he stepped past a column, he spied a half-naked Gojyo lounging in a hot tub like some men’s magazine publisher, surrounded by a bevy of his groupies who gripped his muscled forearms with bright red fingernails and squealed at his … Was that meant to be a compliment, or a joke? Sanzo was half-inclined to retrieve the Smith and Wesson for some rampant prickster target practice, except there was no place to stash it in his swim trunks. He didn’t want to risk shooting off his own pecker because the leaky pervert fancied himself a sex god. And why was he pretending to be a sex god in a hot tub full of strange women anyway, if the hots he had were all for—

Sanzo cut off that thought with the usual combo of peevishness and punctiliousness as he spun on his heel and backtracked faster than he’d come.

Sanctuary wasn’t to be found in any of the other hidey holes, either. The minute he walked into their hotel room, he was hit right between the eyes with the odour of sour feet and halitosis with a dill pickle chaser. Fuck, it made his nose run! Sanzo finished putting back the key-card into his billfold, and rallied his breath to bitch someone out about allowing dirty laundry to pile up. 

The sounds of giggles brought him short. He wondered if Gojyo had managed to sneak in some Hot-Tubbies when he wasn’t looking. 

Carefully, he peeked around the entranceway. Goku! Somehow Goku had mustered up a group of friends — mainly teenagers it seemed, all in varying need of more sunlight and fresh air — who sat atop the beds, covers askew, huddling around control modules and the big-screen entertainment centre, playing electronic games and munching. The smell wasn’t unwashed body parts, but pungent brands of junk food. 

Cursing to himself, Sanzo was turning around and trying to covertly sneak away when Goku called, “Is’zat you, Sanzo? Did ya wanna join us?”

“I forgot my newspaper in the coffee shop.” Sanzo would rather have walked barefoot across fields of rusty sporks.

“Are ya sure? It’s lotsa fun.” Goku’s newfound friends cheered while his avatar did something cool.

“Go ahead without me.” Sanzo was already halfway out the door. 

The message at the front desk was a note from Hakkai, who wouldn’t be back until later that evening. He was at the vet’s for more muscle relaxants and painkillers to relieve their beast of burden. The thing had been kyewing and crooning for two nights like a floor covered with squeaky dolls in a … well, a Kami-sama Palace full of puppies.

Sanzo folded up the message and stuck it in his billfold, next to the keycard. 

Outside, the air shimmered with convection under the brilliant yellow morning sun. It looked busy and bustling with traffic and pedestrians, lights and shops, restaurants and … mailboxes. It looked the exact opposite of what Sanzo felt, gloomy and anxious to head west. This town wanted him to stay awhile, to relax and breathe, kick up his heels and enjoy urban life for a change. Sanzo took a deep breath and walked out the hotel lobby doors.

He made it all the way to the end of the block.

By then he’d had it with the noise, heat, glare, people and dust. To his left, he saw something another coffee shop, similar to the one where he had read his paper and enjoyed some toast and jam that morning, so he turned and walked in. There, after blinking the sun-dazzle out of his eyes, he noticed it was actually a honeycomb of cubicles separated by tall, carpet-covered panels, with desktop computers perched on shallow tables in front of puffy leather chairs. 

A serene-looking guy with long, silver hair and the airiest, most ethereal male voice Sanzo had ever heard walked up and asked him, “Can I help get you situated, sir?”

“What is this place?”

“We are an internet café. We provide WiFi and a private work station where you can sit back, enjoy some of our complimentary coffee or snacks from the vending machines and browse the web.”

“The hell?”

“The worldwide web.”

“No, I meant—” Sanzo knew what the worldwide web was. He wasn’t an idiot. “Why would I want to sit in a café and go online?”

“I don’t know, sir. You may read your favourite blogs, if you so choose, watch movies, join a chatroom and meet new people who share your interests or all kinds of private things you can’t do at home.”

Blogs? Did anyone read those things? And what was this idea of sneaking out in public to do private things? Where was the logic in that?

“Chatrooms, hmph!” He’d heard of them, but had no idea what sort of interests anyone would share with him. “Like a room for the maintenance of antique revolvers? Or wilderness survival skills?”

Okay, so maybe there were a couple things.

“There is a very popular chatroom these days, and I think I’ve seen subjects like those listed on their subject boards. What was it called, gentlemen? That place which hosts the chat contests?” The clerk turned to two other fellows who, from their posture had been huddled over a computer at the front desk when Sanzo came in, but were now openly checking him out. 

Sanzo glared first at a handsome, black-haired, sloe-eyed man whose chest and shoulders expanded his t-shirt like a carved granite massif. The guy must’ve been nearly seven feet tall and towered over the shoulder of a much smaller, leaner, scruffier-looking fellow with scars and pink spiked hair. Hunk of Granite pointed at the screen and muttered something to Pink Spiky before Pink Spiky said something that sounded like, “ChatLubricon.”

“ChatRubicon,” Silvery Airy murmured for Sanzo’s benefit. “ChatRubicon’s kind of a cross between a chatroom and a game of wits. You enter a colosseum, which is a—”

“I know what a colosseum is.”

“This is a virtual colosseum where competitors gather to fight only with words, using their wits. Each arena has its own game — like puns, where the chat-gladiators come up with the best puns …” 

Sanzo felt appalled.

“Some have games of insults, where they try to out-troll each other.”

That sounded marginally better. He figured he stood a pretty good chance of winning any game that required the most inventive cursing and swearing, but shit! Wasn’t there a better form of entertainment?

“Some … well, most of the colosseums are sex arenas where the competitors try to turn each other on.”

Sanzo was most definitely not interested in those.

“You start off with fifty points in a free-for-all where everyone throws their best shots. For each joke, insult, idea or come-on you like, you reply to their comment with a thumbs-up. And for each one you don’t like, you take away a point with a thumbs-down. But depending on which arena you’ve joined, you also have to throw in your jokes, insults, ideas and pickup lines, and the other competitors give you their thumbs up or down. There you go: a contest.”

Sanzo scowled at the clerk’s eager face. 

“And they have Wilderness Survival rooms?” How the fuck would they turn something like that into a contest? He didn’t think he even wanted to know.

The clerk shrugged, “Yes. Though I’ve never participated in those, I expect the colosseums are a good source of wilderness survival information since people would be competing for their titles based on the best suggestions.”

If they weren’t, Sanzo had no use for them.

“To be more precise about the rules on the ChatRubicon site,” the clerk continued. “The first competitor to win a hundred points reaches the Rubicon, which means that person gets to run the show and define what’s going on in the game. For those whose suggestions and ideas are unpopular, well, by the time they reach zero, they’re disqualified and have to leave the chat room.”

Sanzo scowled harder.

“Their bad luck.” Silvery Airy guy shrugged again.

“Or not,” he added, with a long, wispy sigh that spoke of deep boredom and disaffection with the world and all the things in it. “Sometimes competitors connect for other reasons and leave the ChatRubicon arena for a more private chatroom. Whatever turns your, as they say, crank. My name’s Shien, by the way. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

Sanzo was a little curious. “Can I pay for five minutes?”

Shien did not look impressed. “The acceptable minimum is fifteen minutes, whether you use the computer for that time or not, but that’s also the least economical. The price goes down the longer you decide to stay. I would suggest an hour to start. It costs less than a movie.”

Sanzo didn’t like to pay for things he didn’t use. “What’s the maximum?”

“You can stay all night if you want. The longest a customer ever stayed was four days and nights. Zenon — the fellow seated at our computer and running the anti-virus software over there — found it impressive for some reason.” 

“Customer had to be hauled out on a stretcher,” Zenon called out, without even looking up from the keyboard. He was typing so fast, the keystrokes purred like an engine. “Collapsed from dehydration. The paramedics wouldn’t even touch him before we hosed him off.”

That sounded freaky. Sanzo turned toward the exit.

“I’ll help you get started if you want,” Shien offered. “I’ll set you up and direct you to the ChatRubicon Colosseums. All you have to do is come up with a handle, a password and jump in. It’s very easy!”

Sanzo had been stuck with his crew for … he didn’t even want to think how long. He figured it might be time to expand his field of acquaintances. A few more slaves might leave him less vulnerable to Hakkai’s extremely persuasive powers of suggestion. “Okay, I’ll try an hour.”

“Very well, sir.” Shien exchanged a covert nod with the Big Guy, who Sanzo figured must be the manager. The Big Guy reached down, picked up a briefcase and left the desk for a different room at the back of the shop. Sanzo caught a glimpse of him just before he disappeared in the shadows behind the cubicles. Shien gestured toward the desk. “Zenon will process your payment.”

TriggerHappy: So, how does this thing start?

Big Sword: Probably the first thing is make sure you’re in a comfortable spot where nobody will suddenly walk in on you and catch you with your junk out.

TriggerHappy: Give me a few seconds …

Sanzo got up and checked to see if anyone could peer over the wall of his cubicle. It was quite a private space. The place had about the same amount of noise as an arcade. Music steadily beep-booped in the background. Sounds of explosions, sirens and gunfire came from another booth. Shien and Zenon didn’t even look up at him. Most people were probably wearing earbuds anyway. 

TriggerHappy: Done. What next?

Big Sword: Great! For my part, I changed the settings on our chatroom so we’re completely private. Now we’re alone together. 

TriggerHappy: Smart. Crowds … audiences make me uncomfortable.

Big Sword: LOL I want to make you really comfortable. Tell me a little bit about yourself …

This was the last place Sanzo wanted to go. 

TriggerHappy: Like?

Big Sword: What do you look like? How tall are you?

TriggerHappy: I’m normal, maybe on the tall side. Lean, kinda wiry. No flab.

Big Sword: Sounds nice. I like to work out a lot on account of my job, so I’m large and firm all over. As you say, no flab. Broad chest, 6-pack, butt like twin dolphin backs. I’m also tall, well over 6 feet …

TriggerHappy: …

Big Sword: What colour’s your hair?

TriggerHappy: Blond. Straight. 

Big Sword: My favourite. Is it long and shiny, like the sun?

TriggerHappy: No, short in the front, just over the collar in the back. It’s shiny enough since it’s clean. I keep it trimmed so it doesn’t get caught in shit. Does it matter? If you like long hair, daydream away. 

Big Sword: Doesn’t matter that much, but you sound like my type. My hair is black, straight, somewhere between short and medium in length, very thick and shiny, and it feels wonderful when someone runs fingers through it — soft and silky. I keep it meticulously clean and nice-smelling because I want it to be tempting to touch. If you like, you can imagine me rubbing it against your stomach so you could feel how soft and glossy it is, or in a more intimate spot, like between your thighs. 

Sanzo had a visceral reaction to that. He wasn’t hard yet, but that sort of talk was getting him close. He had his sensual side, even if he never trusted anyone enough to show it.

TriggerHappy: Nice. 

Did he just compliment a stranger? Weird. But then, there was no point in not making an effort.

Big Sword: How big is your cock? 

Good. Getting to the point right away.

TriggerHappy: About 4 - 5 inches. You?

Big Sword: I’m a big guy, long and thick. I promise I can fill you all the way up. But before we go there …

Sanzo snorted. In their daydreams, everybody’s cock was 8 inches long and fat as a pipeline. 

Big Sword: Is there anything you particularly like or don’t like? 

Yeah, lots. 

TriggerHappy: ?

Big Sword: Do you have any special kinks? Or things that really turn you off?

TriggerHappy: Don’t know … 

Big Sword: How about I throw out some ideas? If you like the sound of it, type yes. If not, no.

TriggerHappy: OK.

Big Sword: Ready? 

Sanzo wasn’t sure about that, but he clicked the thumbs up. 

Big Sword: Kissing … Nipple play … Back rubs …

TriggerHappy: Depends … depends … Yes …

Big Sword: Okay, depends on what?

TriggerHappy: Don’t like slobbery kisses or biting. Touching and licking are fine.

Big Sword: Got it, LOL! You require skilled handling. So … Hand jobs? … Blow jobs? 

TriggerHappy: Yes … Yes …

Big Sword: Rim jobs … Fingering your ass … 

TriggerHappy: Depends on whether I’ve had a bath first … Yes …

Big Sword: Great, so it sounds like you’re a get-to-business kinda guy, with a fetish for good hygiene, but you don’t mind bottoming. Is that right?

TriggerHappy: I like to smell fresh, I don’t like to beat around the bush, and, no, I don’t mind bottoming as long as you’re good at topping.

Big Sword: Good at topping means different things to different people. Are you okay with some kink?

TriggerHappy: ?

Big Sword: Vibrators … butt plugs … strings of pearls … dildos …

TriggerHappy: Maybe … maybe … Huh? … maybe …

Big Sword: If we’re going for penetration, I need to open you up. When used gently, toys help. 

TriggerHappy: In that case, yes.

Big Sword: Fisting … cock rings … sounding…

TriggerHappy: No … meh … God, NO!

Big Sword: LOL, not big on getting “wrecked” or delayed gratification then. You already told me you don’t like beating around the bush, but I had to know how far that went. How about other kinds of kink and light BDSM?

TriggerHappy: ?

Big Sword: Toe-licking … blindfolds … silk restraints on wrists and ankles … 

TriggerHappy: Only for my partner’s enjoyment; don’t care for it myself since it takes too long to get to the point … maybe … silk sounds nice, but I don’t like being tied down …

Big Sword: Hmm, what I’m hearing is you’re quite tactile and like things which feel nice against your skin. How about leather? … rubber … handcuffs …

TriggerHappy: Sure … no … no way …

Big Sword: Spacer bars … chains … wooden horses …

TriggerHappy: No … No way … I don’t even know — what the fuck is that? …

Big Sword: LOL, I have to say you’re way too conventional for the MYM Arena. It isn’t surprising you were booted out so soon … 

TriggerHappy: You aren’t exactly impressing me with your vaunted courtship skills either…

Big Sword: It’s an observation, not a criticism: you would’ve been unhappy. It’s fun if you like it, but contests over the kinkiest cock on the block jump the shark fast. Do you want to compete with guys who give up their asses for anyone to use? It works for me because I have no trouble coming up with new ideas for using them, but is that what you really want? 

Do you want me to go kinky on your ass?

TriggerHappy: …

Big Sword: I didn’t think so. Let’s stick to your comfort zones … FYI: “Riding the Wooden Pony” is when the sub is tied up and carefully mounted on a sharply angled “rocking horse” with a dildo fixed in the saddle. The angle tenses the muscles in his hips and thighs which forces him to rock back and forth to relieve the pressure and sets up the right body posture for orgasm. Basically, it forces him to fuck his own ass on the dildo while others stand around and watch — a type of bondage, toy and public sex play for those with a humiliation kink. But we’re getting into some pretty advanced stuff here. We can definitely set aside things like that …

That was for damned sure. It made Sanzo want run away and hide in a cave somewhere and never come out.

Big Sword: Not to mention gangbanging, enemas, cock-piercings …

TriggerHappy: Fuck, no! Fuck, no! Fuck, no! 

How had he wound up in this place again? 

Oh yeah! Shien, the clerk, had been true to his word about babysitting him through the initial process — making sure he had an ashtray, changing the keyboard from Thai characters to Chinese, registering for ChatRubicon online. But when it came time to select a Colosseum, he wafted off somewhere else, leaving Sanzo to choose in private.

There were a few interesting links: Fast and Easy Dug-Out Shelters; Quick and Cheap Jeep Repairs; How to Throw Gangs of Raging Youkai off Your Scent … except when Sanzo hit the Methods for Correctly Identifying Wild Mushrooms Challenge, he found himself in the middle of a gay sex-chat orgy instead. 

It was disorienting to suddenly find himself in a place with dozens of other guys who, instead of sharing lore about wild mushrooms, were into this kinky shit. He stared at the screen, blinking, wondering what the fuck was going on. From the descriptions and dialogue which scrolled past, he had unwittingly started following a scene where one guy — naked, blindfolded, with his wrists bound behind his back and a vibrating butt-plug shoved up his bum, secured in place with rubber straps — was being paraded around a public square to where a slave market was being held. It was like reading a perverted story which was taking place in real time. Another guy, who had just been sold at the slave market, was having a leash attached to … Sanzo winced in sympathetic pain. Yet another guy was bent over the slave trader’s lap with his pants hoiked down while his bottom was being paddled for the enjoyment of the buyers. It was all too freaky, but the sets of scenarios were presided over by one guy, this Big Sword guy, who had a way of directing the scenes which did strange things to Sanzo’s pants.

Sanzo’s face felt like it was on fire. He backbuttoned his way out of Meat-Your-Man faster than Hakaryuu pulling them free of Kami-sama’s palace. 

As he sat in his chair, shell-shocked, breathing heavily, feeling like he’d narrowly escaped violation, he made a sudden and extremely shocking discovery: his pants felt even hotter than his face and a good deal tighter. He had almost come without even touching his cock. What’s more, he kind of wanted to go back and finish the job.

Big Sword: I want to make you happy, so I have to ask. There’s no point trying to turn you on if your dirtiest, most secret fantasies aren’t up for play. It would inhibit you, and since we’re both strangers and completely anonymous, you have the freedom to explore anything that makes you feel the slightest bit curious. 

There’s somethin’ else: after doing this for awhile, know what I’ve discovered? 

TriggerHappy: Go ahead. Shoot your wad.

Big Sword: When guys react strongly against something kinky —like, for the sake of argument, cross-dressing? It usually turns out they have a secret hankering for it. If the fantasy really doesn’t affect them, they’re not violently against it, but indifferent. 

TriggerHappy: I’m not that guy. 

The re-entry process into the Meat-Your-Man Colosseum wasn’t quite so easy. This time, the group was ready for him. He was instantly hailed and invited to join in. Then, some guys started to come on a bit too fast and hard, demanding he pull out his dick and …

“Kiss my ass!” He typed.

“Gladly,” someone else, with the improbable name of c0kksukk3r, answered. “My tongue is seven inches long and extremely flexible. Now bend over and spread your cheeks wide open for me.” 

Mostly, he was overwhelmed by the massive pile-driver under which he wound up. Without being a quick typist at the best of times, what with the whole two-fingered typing thing, he didn’t have time to answer before losing track of who he was talking to and what they wrote. Next thing he knew, they were welcoming him with a gangbang … which wasn’t just freaky but nerve-wracking. Confused, Sanzo swore and cursed. When that didn’t work, he typed that he was hauling out his gun to shoot things. Like everything else in that crazy place, that was believed to be innuendo, but the Meat-Your-Man gang didn’t take kindly to this uppity TriggerHappy newcomer waving his dick around like he was ready to fuck them, so he started to bleed points. It didn’t take long before Sanzo hit zero — in fact, minus-seventy points — and was promptly whisked out of the colosseum, banned for 24 hours. 

“Fuck!” he muttered to himself with disbelief and lit a smoke. 

He wasn’t waiting alone in the ChatRubicon Antechamber for long, though, before this Big Sword guy sent him a message, “LOL, that’s gotta be an all-time record for the fastest Meat-Your-Man expulsion.” 

Who was this asshole, Sanzo wondered, and what the fuck did he want? 

Big Sword: Chat with me awhile? 

… Which is how he ended up answering these intimate questions online with this complete stranger. Fortunately, the conversation had moved beyond kink quizzes.

Big Sword: Imagine that you are being pulled against my broad chest. My huge arms are circling around you, rubbing you strong, slow and lazy, rubbing against the muscles in your back. Can you feel those warm, strong movements pulling all the tension and stiffness out? Can you feel your back going loose and relaxed and open?

TriggerHappy: I like massages.

Big Sword: Me, too. What kinds of sounds are you making?

TriggerHappy: I don’t make a lot of noise.

Big Sword: Nobody except me is gonna hear you …

TriggerHappy: I said I’m not a moaner.

Big Sword: It’s gratifying to get a response when I do something right. It lets me know I’m on the right track.

TriggerHappy: Fine. Pretend I’m moaning like a whore. 

Like he gave a shit.

Big Sword: If you were my whore, you’d be sinking at the knees against me. Your hard cock pressed up against mine, straining at the fabric in the front of our … jeans?

TriggerHappy: Fine. Knock me out.

Big Sword: And if you were already my whore, you would already be anticipating the moment when I start to strip you. Maybe you would be calling out little words and phrases of encouragement about how much you want to see my naked body and my big, hard cock …

TriggerHappy: Right. Unzip the jeans. Whip it out. Show it to me.

Big Sword: Not so fast. I said “if you were already my whore”, which you clearly aren’t, are you?

TriggerHappy: …

Big Sword: You radiate hostility, you put the brakes on every line of enquiry and adventure before it goes deep, and I expect your body is as tightly wound as a torque converter. Again, not a judgment, just an observation. And it’s okay. If you aren’t ready to move fast, I’ll move slowly. But before I do that, I need to know if this is what you really want. 

TriggerHappy: …

Sanzo finally figured out he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this chat-sex thing unless he opened himself up a little. 

Big Sword: Is it?

TriggerHappy: Yes … and no. Don’t know. How should I do this?

Big Sword: That’s up to you. Imagine I’m standing there and we want to have sex. What would you like me to do first? 

For fuck’s sake!

TriggerHappy: Touch me.

Big Sword: Okay, that’s a good start. Since you have a lot of tension in your body, I want to make sure that your muscles are feeling loose, relaxed and comfortable before we go any further. So I am going to keep caressing your skin: lightly at first, and then, as your body starts to warm up, places that were stiff are feeling more flexible, so I move to a firmer and more energetic touch. 

TriggerHappy: Nice.

Big Sword: If there are any particularly sore spots, I want to soothe them away. Can you tell me what they are?

TriggerHappy: Shoulders, neck, upper back …

Big Sword: Can you imagine you’re feeling the warmth of my hands over those places? And that I’m gently, softly, tenderly touching my hands down, and gently, softly, tenderly working those knots loose. Feel my hands rubbing you. Feel how the soreness is dissipating.

TriggerHappy: Good. 

Big Sword: Let’s keep doing this for awhile then. Are there any particular spots which need some loving attention? 

For the next few minutes, the guy administered a virtual massage with his words. Although Sanzo wasn’t exactly trying to be a killjoy — he had, after all, joined in this chat freely and with every intention of enjoying himself — he knew he wasn’t making things easy and it came down to the way old habits died hard. 

In spite of himself, the massage was working. Sanzo was impressed with how well the mere suggestion of being touched made him more comfortable than the actual therapy he had been receiving at the spa. The tightness and contained anger was dissipating from his body. His neck and shoulders felt more relaxed than they had been since the hot-pot party for Goku back in Changa’an. His gut no longer felt so cramped and he felt safe enough to back off on the hair-trigger reactiveness for awhile. 

Big Sword: This sensation of feeling the texture of your body under my palms is turning me on so much. I can hardly wait to pull off your clothes and touch your skin. I’m reaching around and slowly running my hands down your ass, right now, kneading and squeezing those cheeks in my big, strong hands, picking you up by them and pushing you HARD! against me so you can feel my hard-on through the front of your pants. 

Do you have a hard-on, Trigger? Are you starting to feel this? 

Sanzo was acutely conscious of the pressure of his ass against the cushioned seat. By adjusting his weight, it really did feel like a set of large hands was rubbing over his cheeks and pushing his hips forward. The muscles of his ass were feeling loose and kind of … trembling.

TriggerHappy: Getting there.

Big Sword: Mm, I like how you hold back, but I notice you swallowing, so I reach over and tilt your chin up so I can give you a nice, long, firm kiss, and let my tongue do things to your mouth which I want my cock to do inside your ass. And while I’m kissing you, and fucking your mouth with my tongue, and I have one arm circled around your back, supporting your weight, my other hand slides down the front of your body to the front of your pants. There, my fingers find your cock. I fondle and squeeze …

Sanzo actually let out a little moan at that, but caught himself and choked it off, before the volume escalated to the point where anyone else might hear. If he thought about it, it was crazy trying to do this in a place stacked, cubicle-on-cubicle, with other people. At the same time, he was horny enough to risk it.

His own hands stood in for Big Sword guy’s, slipping down the front of his pants.

TriggerHappy: Feels nice …

Big Sword: You certainly do. I’m going to loosen and open up the front of your trousers now. I’m pulling everything down so I can reach over and feel the soft skin of your cock between my fingers. 

Finally! Sanzo quietly and carefully unzipped his jeans and pulled it out of his pants. He squeezed fingers around it and gave it a long, firm stroke.

TriggerHappy: Good…

Big Sword: With my other hand I’m reaching around to your bare ass. I’m slipping it into the crack between your cheeks into that little hollow and … at last! My fingers are brushing back and forth over your hole. 

With one hand on his cock and the other sliding to massage the ring of muscles around the entrance to his ass, Sanzo had nothing left to type with.

Big Sword: I’m getting a little impatient now. You can sense this in the way I start tearing your clothes off, then picking you up and throwing you on the soft, soft bed …

That required a response. Sanzo stopped playing with himself and got back on the keyboard.

TriggerHappy: Being thrown doesn’t work for me. Torn clothing would piss me right off. 

Big Sword: Okay, but in our fantasy space, your clothes will be perfectly whole when the time comes to put them back on, and when I throw you on the bed, it’s not to overpower you, but to show you how you’re driving me crazy with lust. OK?

TriggerHappy: In that context, fine. But let’s move along. I’m ready. 

Big Sword: Terrific, because do you know what I want to do first? 

This sounded promising. It implied that there was a second course in store. Sanzo was already hard. His breathing, though controlled for sound, was heavy and fast. His cock was more than ready for stroking. His ass … he was starting to want a hard cock stuffed up it. 

TriggerHappy: What?

Big Sword: I want to …

Without any warning the browser closed. 

“Fuck!” Sanzo sat up straight and stared. “What just happened?”

The other programs started closing, one after another in rapid succession.

“No! No! No! Don’t do this to me now.” Sanzo started hitting the function keys, the enter key, anything he could think of. Nothing worked. Within ten seconds, the computer shut itself down completely. He let out a shout of frustration, and started swearing at it.

“Sir?” He heard Shien call from the counter. It reminded Sanzo of where he was. Without further ado, he quickly bundled his aching hard-on back into his jeans, tucked in his shirt, zipped up the zipper, buttoned the button, belted the belt.

“Sir, is there a problem?” Shien asked from the door of his cubicle.

“Damned computer shut down!” Sanzo bitched. “My time isn’t up.”

“It is now. I’m aware that your computer’s operation was stopped, sir. There is a reason, but I don’t care to discuss it in front of our other customers.” Shien’s face was inscrutable enough that Sanzo knew the game was up. “As for that matter, you will have to take it up with our store manager. He is waiting for you in the back.”

“The hell?” A cold chill ran up Sanzo’s spine.

“I don’t suggest you keep him waiting.”

Furious, Sanzo grabbed his gun and his cigarettes and stormed to the back of the store. Without knocking, he kicked the door open and stomped into the darkness of the unlit room…

… Only to have the revolver plucked from his fingers before he could fire it off or wave it around. Before he could even think, someone with far more strength and speed had him bent over in a half-nelson, one arm trapped under his chest, the other twisted behind his spine, one cheek pressed against the surface of a metal desk on which rested a closed circuit television screen. On that screen, the surveillance video was paused on him, his erect dick out and wide open for all to see and even his asshole fully exposed as he started playing with it. 

“I heard you have an issue with things getting shut down prematurely, Mister …” Sanzo saw a hand reach past him on the desk and pull out a credit card stub, “Cho Hakkai.”

“I’m not—!” Sanzo snapped his lips shut. Hakkai, the fucker! What had he been doing with the Gold Card? Then he remembered that he had been barely conscious when Hakaryuu pulled them free from the wreckage of Kami-sama’s palace.

Damn, the guy was massive. It was like being spooned by a giant — a giant with the power to break a guy’s limbs like matchsticks. 

His voice was deep and velvety and base. Something about it went straight to Sanzo’s balls. His erection hadn’t gone down yet, and the man’s voice seemed to reach around his cock and stroke it. Except, literally caught pants down, Sanzo was in no mood.

Sanzo realized he wasn’t really in a position to argue either. His shoulder was about to dislocate again, and his wrist close to being crushed under a grip strong as a steel bear-trap. Then there was the damning evidence, the proof in the pudding. Still, old habits died hard. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the guy who’s got you by the balls. But you can call me Homura.”

He was released with a warning shake and, as he straightened up, rubbing his wrist which had started to develop the sensation of pins and needles, he watched grimly as Homura emptied the bullets from his revolver chamber and tossed them out the window into the back alley. 

“The way I see it is you have three choices …”

“The hell I do! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Oh? Shall I send for the cops right now? Or post copies of this video to Screw-tube and The Sun-Mail online? I figure it will go viral like bird flu.”

Genjyo shut his trap with a snap.

“Have a seat.” Homura pulled out a chair. 

“I prefer to stand.”

“Park it now.”

Sanzo sniffily parked it, and Homura sat back in his own chair, an identical version of the comfortable padded office chairs in the cubicles. One of his elbows rested on the desk and he rested his chin on that hand, a finger covering his mouth as though to guard it from speaking too soon. 

The scrutiny was not helping with Sanzo’s Zen issues.

“When I first caught you on camera, I figured I would offer you a choice. I was going to tell you that if you preferred I didn’t hand this evidence over to the cops, you would have about fifteen seconds to drop your pants and let me fuck you.” Sanzo was too surprised to let off the usual stream of vitriol. In any case, Homura forestalled it by holding up his hand. “I was going to do that because I think you’re gorgeous and the sight of you getting ready to jerk off in your cubicle made me horny as hell. I wanted to fuck you.”

Sanzo didn’t know what to say to that. He was like a cornered cat, ready to do anything to get out of this. 

“It also struck me as lonely. A desireable, good-looking guy, alone in a little box surrounded by strangers in other boxes, jerking off by himself — how did things get to that point?”

Sanzo wasn’t listening, and he didn’t have time for a pity-party anyway, even if Homura had been barking up the right tree, which he wasn’t. Sanzo was too busy trying to identify potential weapons in the weird shapes half-glimpsed from the corners of his eyes in that dark room.

“There was only one problem with my plan — a big problem!” 

Okay, that sounded worth listening to. 

Homura straightened up in his seat, then leaned forward to inform Sanzo, confidentially, and in that deep, honeyed voice which sounded so close to purring, “I’m no rapist.”

Sanzo’s relief was indescribable. The release of tension was so palpable, it was as though a hundred pounds of hardened cement turned to liquid and drained through the soles of his feet. He stopped looking for weapons and started breathing.

It didn’t look like Homura was done, though. “So I’m going to ask you instead …”

He had Sanzo’s full attention.

“Will you let me fuck you?”

“What?”

Homura did not repeat himself, so Sanzo figured he’d heard right.

Unbelievable! No fucking way! First the guy trapped him. Then he roughed him up. Then he threatened him. And now he wanted Sanzo to bend over?

Suddenly, he noticed that one of Homura’s sloe-coloured eyes had a bluish tint and the other was brownish-gold, and they were both wide and clear and sincere. His skin looked soft and firm, and his hair was thick, soft and glossy — tempting to the touch.

“You’ll let me have all the copies of that video?” Sanzo growled.

“I’ll let you have them anyway,” Homura clarified, “Whatever you decide. Although I have to say it will be a wrench to let them go, since I would love to use them whenever I want to spank the monkey.”

Sanzo snorted, weirdly amused. Lots of people wanted a piece of Sanzo — and it usually turned out to be the piece with the Sutra attached. Not too many people were as honest about wanting sex purely for the sake of lust. He could walk out of this shop, and it would be like shaking off the dirt of a bad day. And it was a particularly bad day. Everything in this particularly bad day had slid so spectacularly sideways, it made Sanzo kind of want to stick his gun to his own temples and pull the trigger.

Except Homura was offering him a chance to turn this shitty day around …

Homura purged the video file and held out his hand, “Your answer?”

Not a chance in hell. Not if Homura were the last living being on the planet.

If this guy was sincere, it would be so easy to blow him off. He could just chalk it up to another experiment gone pear-shaped because he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do: head west, fight off slathering youkai, stop the fucking renegade, shut down the fucking Minus Wave, save his friends, avenge Koumyou, get his Sutra back, get the fucking Sanbatsushin off his back … JFC, the stress was giving him a headache. It was such a fucking list! 

Was it really so bad that he couldn’t even take an afternoon off for sex? An afternoon where his servants were laid up with injuries anyway? 

Oh, yes, it was. It really was that bad! There were so many things wrong with this, so many things which could go wrong. Sanzo kept laughing and shaking his head.

The gods knew he needed the break. He had been all set and ready to wank off along with someone in a friggin’ chatroom, ferchrissakes! For all he knew, Big Sword could’ve been a scrawny, pimply 13-year-old kid! Sanzo snorted. A scrawny kid left high and dry. That would teach him. 

This Homura guy … he wasn’t bad. Yes, he was fucking huge and strong and scary, but he wasn’t hard on the eyes at all. And as personalities went, he wasn’t trying to pressure Sanzo into doing anything he didn’t want. He wasn’t going to rape Sanzo. He wasn’t going to use coercion or blackmail. Instead, he asked. 

Sanzo didn’t mind being asked at all, even if he was going to absolutely, unequivocably refuse. The polite enquiry was the only thing that ever worked with him — if he was in the mood. Sure, he had been in the mood, but the shock and embarassment and alarm of the past ten minutes had doused him like a cold water bath. That was long gone. 

Of course, now that this guy was telling him he had nothing to worry about, he could feel the results of all that time spent working toward the peak of arousal. His whole genital area and ass, his stomach and upper thighs were buzzing! All he had to do was relax … which he wasn’t going to do … which he would never do with a complete stranger. Ever. 

“Whatever,” Sanzo said, rolling his eyes. 

The expression on Homura’s face was pure surprise and delight. He sank back in his chair as if being bowled over, a smile not so much on his lips, but soft and glowing in his eyes. 

As Sanzo started pulling off his clothes, summarily and without ceremony, he rose and captured his hands. “Let me.”

“Back off!” Sanzo growled, and at Homura’s clear surprise and offended dignity, shook his head to indicate that he hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive. Big Sword’s comment about throwing him around and tearing his clothing still bothered him. As a form of explanation and apology, he tilted his chin at Homura, “Your body, I wanna see it too. You should be stripping yourself.”

A slow smile curled across Homura’s lips. “So? Take my clothes off after I’m finished taking off yours.”

Right, there was always reciprocity. Sanzo dropped the hem of his black crew-necked tank top. It snapped back to just above the muscle-pack around his navel. He kept his elbows up at shoulder height in invitation.

Homura stepped close. Without losing eye contact, he slid his hands around Sanzo’s waist. His hands were warm and big and the way he moved them over Sanzo’s skin with just enough pressure to keep him grounded and engaged was soft, caring, tender and the best thing he’d felt in weeks. It was the world of difference between that and the clinical detachment and lack of energy Sanzo had received from the professional therapists at their fancy-schmancy spa — and here it was, healing touch from a complete stranger!

“Nice!” Sanzo grunted, remembering the plea for feedback from Big Sword. Sanzo could feel the heat radiating from Homura’s groin through the front of his jeans.

Homura glanced down at his naked midriff and let out a heavy puff of admiration, “Sure is!”

The tank top was expertly slipped off. Then Sanzo’s hands were guided to the hem of Homura’s tank, weirdly the same style and colour. “Your turn.” 

Sanzo looked over Homura’s massive chest and arms. There was no way he could strip him as smoothly and expertly. The guy was just too big. 

“I dunno …” he said, retracting his hands. “I don’t think I can reach.”

“I’ll teach you.” Homura recaptured them and brought them back. “Just lift and pull.”

Sanzo did as he was told, and Homura bent and stepped back at just the right moment to let it slide smoothly off. His hair sparked with static and floated over his head. 

“Wait just a sec!” He tried to shake off the static. “Don’t wanna shock you.”

It started slow and easy with a muscle-melting massage that left Sanzo’s back feeling soft and — the only descriptive word he could come up with was ‘buttery’. Every time Sanzo felt the urge to bitch in order to move things along more quickly, he stuffed it down and was rewarded with a truly skillful session of fucking that was every bit as thorough and … long, hard and deep, just the way Sanzo liked it. Homura’s cock matched his body, big and hard. It had taken a lot of stretching and relaxing to fit him in. 

Sanzo figured he knew fucking. He had been with other horny men before, and it had been rough, stiff and raw. They had gotten their rocks off as quickly as they could, wiped off, zipped up and walked away with little more than grunts of thanks — never to see or think of each other again. Homura used awareness and sensitivity and this was a problem, because Sanzo had obligations to fulfil which required steel, not silk. Gentle, vulnerable feelings were too close to the surface, and he didn’t dare let them come any closer. 

“Fuck!” He struck the side of his fist against the table-top. 

Homura paused for a moment, and rubbed those warm hands along the length of his spine. 

“I know,” he said. “It’s okay. I’ll finish up.”

Just when started to feel like it was getting to be too much, Homura’s body lengthened and grew hard and still and Sanzo felt him spill hot and wet inside. Even that felt good. After Sanzo felt him pull away, as he remained collapsed against the desk, Homura brought back a warm, wet cloth and wiped him clean, and that felt even better.

It was also in the nick of time. They barely finished zipping and buckling up and straightening their hair and clothes. Homura looked like he wanted to say something. Sanzo definitely didn’t want to say anything, but they didn’t have to because someone started thumping on the back door, loud enough to shake down the building. Sanzo heard Goku’s voice shouting for him.

“Oi, shut the fuck up and stop raising a fuss, baka yarou!” He unbolted the door and pulled it open. The noonday sun flooded in with the intensity of a spear. 

“Are you alright, Sanzo?” Goku peered in. “I spotted your bullets scattered around the door and you were gone for such a long while. I thought you, maybe, took off without me.”

“Don’t just stand there; pick ’em up.” Sanzo fumbled for his pack of cigarettes. He grabbed the revolver back from Homura — while Goku was distracted and dutifully bent over to pick up bullets — and stuffed it into his jacket before stepping outside. “I was ready to leave.” 

“Who’s that guy, Sanzo?” Goku was asking.

He shook his head in warning at Homura to keep the guy’s mouth closed.

“We’ll meet again, Genjo Sanzo.” Homura pronounced much too confidently and grandly for Sanzo’s comfort. 

“Not if I can help it.” Sanzo grit his teeth. He wondered how the guy figured out his name.

“And you as well, Son Goku.” Homura reached over and pulled the door shut behind them.

That was the end of it.

All questions were staved off as Sanzo lit a smoke and kept shaking his head, as though dismissing the day’s events. Goku’s curiosity was replaced the moment they passed behind a restaurant, anyway, with a plaintive, “I’m hungry.

One hour and a basket of meat buns later, Sanzo stumbled back through the spa to their room. His lower back hurt like hell, and his ass felt like it had been blown wide enough to stuff a truncheon in it, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in months. 

He was greeted at the door by Hakkai who said, regretfully, “The veterinarian says that Hakaryuu needs at least another day …”

“Fine, fine.” Sanzo waved his hand, dismissing the concern. “I could use the extra sleep.”

As he slipped his sports coat onto the hanger, he reached in its pocket and pulled the business card he had taken from a stack on Homura’s desk in the backroom. He hadn’t examined it at the time, thinking only to keep the number in case he ever felt like relieving some stress again. 

As he tucked the card into his billfold, he quickly scanned the 2-point font print:

Homura Taishou  
CEO Tenkai Field Operations

Big Sword Enterprises  
ChatRubicon TM


End file.
